


I Heard A Fly Buzz When I Died

by starhoneyy



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Corruption, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Doctor Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun, Doctor/Patient, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Dystopia, Forced, Fucked Up, Gaslighting, Government Experimentation, Love, M/M, Manipulation, Medical Examination, Medical Experimentation, Mental Institutions, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Tension, Twisted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27993897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starhoneyy/pseuds/starhoneyy
Summary: In the white and quiet of the room, Yuta watches, waits, and listens.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 16
Kudos: 58





	I Heard A Fly Buzz When I Died

There's a buzzing noise coming from somewhere in the room. Yuta can't see it, but he hears it, like grainy static being ground into his ear. It sets him on edge and makes his fingers curl around the rope at the back of the chair that ties his hands together — thick and heavy, leaving bright, red, distinct marks every time they take them off. But they have to stay on for now, and it's because _he's_ coming.

Yuta flexes his fingers as he waits quietly — they feel like dead weight, and the needle-like pinpricks from the lack of blood circulation have now dulled into a low throb. It feels as if his hands aren't there despite him moving them — he _knows_ he's moving them, he thinks, is sure of, is _aware._ But like the rest of his body and like the stark blankness of the room, it feels lifeless; like tired, heavy bricks have wrapped around each muscle and is pulling him down.

Yuta exhales, closing his eyes as he listens. It's never completely silent, not really. There are footsteps outside, but he knows that's nothing new — they've always been there throughout the day, in twenty four hours rotations, practically ceaseless. Yuta has learned to keep the time by memorising their cycles, by knowing what feet belong to which nurse or what official and when. They've all been here to see him, and he's taken note of the sound of the clacking of their heeled feet.

Though, he must have missed a couple days, perhaps a month, time slowly slipping through his fingers. He knows the day, not the time, for his heavy feeling in his eyes and his insipid mind have long lost the ability to discern between day and night.

Now, though, Yuta is alert.

He opens his eyes when he hears four beats, the sound of polished loafers making their way down the hallway. He knows who it is, he doesn't even have to bother looking up, and yet he does, eyes falling upon the thick, metallic, white door that has trapped him in this room for _months._ The door opens without a creak, silent and noiseless, just like the man who steps through, as if the only sound was the smirk on his lips — loudly mocking. He hasn't said a word, and yet Yuta can hear his voice in his head, blaring in his ears like an earworm on repeat.

Jaehyun steps forward in his pristine white coat, perfectly gelled hair, and thick rimmed glasses. And Yuta finds he likes the contrast between him and the room — he can never see himself, but he can see others, and Jaehyun's visitations are frequent, a reminder that he is in fact alive and they have indeed decided not to _kill him_.. yet. Though, Jaehyun's presence itself is the catalyst to his emotions, making him, for once, feel things — dread creeping in his stomach and anticipation crawling over his skin.

Jaehyun's eyes are sharp, but Yuta's are hard set. But it isn't, and would never be, a deterrent.

"Yuta," Jaehyun starts, pearly white smile on display as he fixes his stethoscope. The metal catches the light of the flickering bulb and flashes in his eyes momentarily, almost causing him to flinch. Like most things, Yuta feels like Jaehyun had done it on _purpose._

"Hello Doctor," Yuta answers simply, stoically, rigidly, his body set in stone as he waits for Jaehyun's next move. Yuta refrains from letting out a humourless laugh. It is comical really — they must have somehow swapped places. _Jaehyun_ should be the one strapped down and tied to the chair, examined from head to toe, his skull ripped apart until they figured out exactly what was wrong with him, down to the neurons wired wrongly in his brain.

Jaehyun's smile drops at the name. He prefers for Yuta to call him by his _real_ name, insists on it even, though Yuta has not once acquiesced unless forced to. Jaehyun grimaces. Perhaps his methods haven't been working.

Yuta holds his breath as Jaehyun comes closer, chest constricting at his approach. He blinks once, and Jaehyun is in front of him, prior grimace gone, only to be replaced with a look of stoicism. They both say nothing as Jaehyun pulls his stethoscope — the item slithering around his neck and falling smoothly — and lifts Yuta's thin shirt to feel for his heartbeat. Like every week and thing that Yuta takes note of, Yuta notices that Jaehyun's hands are cold.

The facility itself is always cold, and the vents must have been connected to the very outside air he wishes to breathe. Yuta thinks it's vile, in a way, to tease him like that — like such a breath of fresh air would be accessible to him if he would just talk, if he would just _cooperate._ But Yuta is quiet, and Jaehyun's hands feel icier than every gust of air he has ever felt touch his skin on the outside. The feeling of his other palm digging into Yuta's chest sends a tingle down his spine, making him viscerally shiver, and Jaehyun's eyes flicker upwards, a twitch in the corner of his lips.

He retracts the stethoscope and briskly moves unto placing a wooden spoon into Yuta's mouth, flattening upon his tongue to survey his tonsils and to then look under the pink muscle to make sure he hasn't hidden any medicines. Yuta fights the urge to spit in his face while he does it; to writhe and wrench himself free, to jump upon the man and wrap a hand around his throat before strangling him to death — to put Jaehyun where he rightly _deserves._

Jaehyun's hands are delicate. Yuta knows it's a facade.

Jaehyun puts the stick away, but he doesn't pull back. His body stays forward, face in front of Yuta who has opted to close his eyes. He feels Jaehyun run the pads of his thumbs over his sunken sockets, his eyebrows, then down to graze his cheek, before it finally finds its way to his lips, rubbing over the area and smoothing it down. Yuta's heart is hammering in his chest, against the walls of his ribcage, screaming to be let free despite his own calm demeanour. He wonders if Jaehyun could tell how long he's been holding his breath.

Jaehyun's fingers linger there for a few passing moments, and when they move to his hair, Yuta can still feel the stare of Jaehyun's eyes on his lips. Jaehyun's fingers run through the grown out, blonde-ish strands, petting him almost, as if Yuta was an animal in his very own zoo — an exhibition for his eyes, and his eyes only, to feast on. It's greedy. It's hungry. It's the look of a man wanting to feed.

Pain shoots down Yuta's scalp and into his spine when he _tugs._

Yuta's eyes shoot open, and his lips part in a noiseless gasp. His eyes meet Jaehyun's, and it's almost as if they are suspended in time, eyes transfixed upon the other's. A swirl of emotions flash through Jaehyun's eyes — anger, calculation, want, greed, and something sick, something twisted, the sole thing that has been Jaehyun's selfish reason for keeping him here;

Love.

Yuta feels _sick._

"They wanted to cut your hair," Jaehyun's starts, face so close that they're practically sharing the same air passing between the cusps of their parted lips. His grip on Yuta's hair loosens, no longer sharp, but has turned into a low ache, a reminder that he had done the action and that he could do it again if he pleased. Yuta licks the dryness over his lips, watching as Jaehyun's eyes follow the swipe of his tongue.

"I told them not to," Jaehyun continues, "it would have been too much of a shame." His hand continues to rake through Yuta's hair softly, his other hand on Yuta's thigh, cold and firm. "It's far too pretty."

"Let them cut it," Yuta answers without missing a beat, and Jaehyun almost — _almost_ — looks taken aback. Yuta can tell that Jaehyun dislikes what he said by the solitary twitch in his eye, and yet, he doesn't care. They should cut it. They should shave him till he's bald. They should make sure it could never grow back again if that would be the thing to get rid of Jaehyun's twisted obsession.

It wouldn't.

"Darling," Jaehyun says, lightly disappointed as he cocks his head, "I could never." Jaehyun leans even closer, the ghost of his lips on Yuta's with the way their practically touching, before he mumbles lowly, "you should learn to appreciate what you've been given."

Yuta's nose flares, ready to knock his head forward and push Jaehyun away regardless of any punishment he may receive, if only to stop the wild thrashing of his heart, but Jaehyun beats him to it, a hand tightening around Yuta's jaw with vice-like grip. Yuta jerks in his hold, but Jaehyun's too strong, and Yuta's too weak with the meagre food they've been feeding him. Jaehyun undoubtedly wins.

Yuta's chest rises and falls, anger flaring within him as they stare each other down. "Let. Me. Out. Of. Here," Yuta says through gritted teeth.

Jaehyun tuts, before a deep chuckle rumbles in his chest. Yuta feels warmth at the sound of it — of the daunting remembrance of how it used to be. Yuta should have known better than to play the fools fiddle. "I can't do that. You're not well, Yuyu, you're _unstable._ "

The lie of his mental state falls easily from Jaehyun's lips — practiced and rehearsed so nobody would ever know better — but it's the use of the nickname that fuels the fire inside him. Yuta snarls, "I'm not crazy. Stop telling them that I am. Tell them to let me go, and that you're a fucking sick freak paired with being a pathological liar."

Jaehyun's laughter dies, but at the end of Yuta's spiel, he's still smiling. Yuta's eyes flutter over to the crescents he once adored, and something tugs at his chest, sharp and painful, almost physically causing him to hitch his breath. Jaehyun continues smiling, but his hand falls from Yuta's hair back down to his cheekbone, before running over his exposed neck. Yuta knows the look in his eyes. Jaehyun still wishes to mark it, to lay hand shaped bruises and dark lip-shaped marks as a testament to their love.

"But you see, you _must_ be crazy. You still are. You're not reformed yet. Only a man who had lost his mind would have chosen to be the leader of the rebellion. You were sending yourself in to die, and I saved you before you could choose to throw yourself into such a thing... You see, I am doing this for _you._ "

"Is that what you think, Yoonoh?" Yuta spits, jarred by Jaehyun's reasoning. "You think you're doing this for _me?_ There are people dying because of people like you — twisted, corrupt, freaks in power. If I had known... _God._ " Yuta wants to throw his head back, but the chair is tall and digs into the rear of his neck with its edges.

Yuta is seething, and yet, Jaehyun's smile grows impossibly wider. He must have focused on the fact that for the first time in months, Yuta had let his name slip. To Jaehyun, it was progress. To Yuta, he had accidentally fuelled his past lover's delusions. To the both of them, it was a secret untold. It was Yuta's fault that he had ever let himself fall. It was Yuta's fault that they had ever gotten that far.

"Jaehyun," Yuta begins again, swallowing the word so bitter and acrid on his tongue, "they are killing us. Those people out there are _dying._ " And it was a plea for his humanity, though Yuta should have known that something like that had withered long ago.

"Yes, and you will not be one of them."

Jaehyun's smile is gone in the flash of an eye, face clouded and jaw set together tightly at the mere thought of Yuta dying. Jaehyun didn't care for one man, two, three hundred, mere _thousands_ — he didn't even care for himself. In some twisted form of devotion, he would have killed himself ten times over if it meant Yuta's life would be freed in exchange.

The pause in the room grows tangible in their silence, so thick and heady that Yuta feels as if he has cut it when he moves his ring finger.

He lets out a wound up breath and shuts his eyes as Jaehyun pulls away from him finally. Yuta opens them just as Jaehyun fixes his coat to make himself look refined, and it works — it _would_ work if Yuta didn't know him better, if Yuta couldn't see how tense he is, how dark his eyes have grown, how on edge he has become. He knows he's upset the doctor when there are no firm lips placed on his forehead as a final goodbye — only quiet as the door shuts, and Jaehyun's scent wanes.

The light flickers. The room is shrouded in darkness. Yuta can hear the buzz in the corner grow louder.

**Author's Note:**

> Uni is making me tired. I’m just tired. This is/was a product of my tiredness. Title taken from an Emily Dickinson poem. I hate poetry. (also, this was my first time writing fully in first person, so if you see mistakes LOOK AWAY) <3  
> [twt](https://mobile.twitter.com/starhoneyy)  
> [cc activities](https://curiouscat.qa/starhoneyyy)


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